


Aftermath

by Maldoror



Category: Berlin Station (TV)
Genre: Gen, S2 ep6, thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 06:52:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12929859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maldoror/pseuds/Maldoror
Summary: Just something I scribbled for the hell of it after watching S2 episode 6 of Berlin Station. FYI, I hadn't seen the remaining episodes when I wrote this.





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> Just something I scribbled for the hell of it after watching S2 episode 6 of Berlin Station. FYI, I hadn't seen the remaining episodes when I wrote this.

There was only so much he could have done then, yet his mind raced with what ifs; the after smell of regret, and the missed opportunities that could have led to different outcomes. Otto would have been still alive, rightfully spending his time behind bars had he… well it didn’t matter. Nothing seems to work out in his life. Instead he has self- guilt, and aching knuckles wrapped in bloodied gauze in memory of his fuck up; the latter somewhat helping with the former.

 

The broken frame came with the  familiar stinging in his knuckles that he welcomed, like he did with any self-harming tactics he  employed on himself. He was no longer a young boy under the surveillance of his dad's heavy hands to beat him like before, thus, he learned –adapted- to become creative in his methods over the years.

 

He went to Otto’s office looking for an answer, in hopes of finding something to ease his troubling thoughts, something that could validate his death. Instead he found the framed swastika picture on his desk, and that was the ignition he needed to self-destruct and self-soothe in the only way he knew how to. That raw pain, damaging the nerves in his hand upon impact was sharp and sweet, sending a piercing jolt to his jaw muscles, and heightening his senses in response. But it wasn’t enough. His high pain tolerance prevented the fresh injury from dulling the pain in his heart like it once used to do. Even the alcohol Hector poured onto his wound was a mere flinch in his nervous system; he needed more.

 

That is where Esther came into the picture. His line of work allowed no room for emotions, but Daniel knew, however small, he couldn’t deny his feelings for her. He had been hurt by her before, and the small voice in the back of his head told him the pain would be all the more better.  And so his need for release won that night when he banged on her door seeking solace. He made himself believe things could change between them; hope grew overnight in her bed, their shared body heat confirmed his feelings for her were real. But once again, she wronged him, and that pain in his heart came back.

 

Now he found himself reaching out for her again, the need for physical pain transformed into an emotional hurt he sought from her. He needed her to give him a sense of security in a life tied to a dangerous job. Their work brought them meaning but Daniel knew it could and would also tear them apart, never allowing the two of them to experience joy like civilians. They would find knock offs of it here and there in the comforts of each other’s homes, only for it to disappear in the morning when they resumed their respective roles. This was the hurt he graduated into. But a tiny flame of hope remained in Daniel’s stubborn heart, waiting for the right moment and opportunity to fan it, grow it into a fire that could breathe life into the relationship. Daniel balled a hand into a fist, his heart thudded sorely with doubt at a fleeting thought:

_What if that opportunity never comes?_

 

He remained standing, staring at his reflection in the window, noticing the fine lines on his face, the graying hair and the need for sleep apparent under his eyes.

 

_What then?_


End file.
